


The Doctor, the detective and the pathologist

by katiebuttercup



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jealous Sherlock is jealous, Not sure what is endgame, jealous Doctor is jealous
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 14:10:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13032813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katiebuttercup/pseuds/katiebuttercup
Summary: Two men contemplate the woman he lovesFirst chapter: the Doctor





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The Doctor crashes into Molly’s back garden not Amy’s

Disclaimer: all characters belong to their respective owners 

The Doctor hadn’t expected to fall in love with Molly Hooper. He hadn’t expected to crash land in her back garden either although the latter was less of a surprise he supposes on reflection. 

But there he was in the middle of the night, still cooking and there was Molly Hooper who was really less surprised then she ought to be about a man falling out of the sky in a blue box into her little garden. 

He should have known then that Molly Hooper wouldn’t conform to any expectations. 

She was a quiet sort in the begining but oh so wise, she thinks he doesn’t listen when she talks-he’s usually doing something else, but he listens and wonders how this tiny human can know so much. She’s like the Tardis, so much bigger on the inside. 

She’s as brave as a lion in an unassuming way; many an alien or enemy have “kidnapped” her just to learn their mistake at the last instance, that she’s right where she needs to be. 

There isn’t a fight too big or a being too small that Molly won’t try to fix head on. And this old, scarred heart so used to loneliness and anger begins to thaw.

Because he’s better with her, sees the magic of the universe in her eyes. He’s closer to being the man he wants to be with Molly at his side then he has been in a few hundred years. 

Molly softens his edges and hardens his resolve. And just like him the universe is helpless but to fall under her spell. 

Vincent Van Gogh begs her to stay with him; to be his muse, she brings light into that tortured soul and The doctor’s heart breaks that it’s not quite enough to save him. 

Elizabeth the first flirts with Molly shamelessly, as does Jack Harkness when they inevitably cross paths. He ignores Jack’s telling glance when he pulls Molly away from the flirtatious time traveller. 

“Maybe next time,” Jack says to Molly when she’s safely back next to the Doctor. Molly laughs but doesn’t turn him down. 

It’s the night of Queen Victoria’s coronation and they’ve stolen the would be queen out from under the oppressive gaze of her mother. It’s not the first time they’ve done it-or it won’t be the first time. Sometimes tenses get the best of even him. 

Victoria sighs under the weight of the crown that they’ve “borrowed” it’s strange to see the indomitable woman so uncertain.

Seeing the other women’s distress Molly plucks the crown off Victoria.

“You should try it on,” the young monarch to be says. Molly pauses, she looks to the Doctor who shrugs impassively. Molly is a queen to him whether or not she has a crown. 

Molly places the crown on her head cautiously. 

The breath leaves his lungs. Even dressed in jeans and baggy jumper there is something regal in Molly, a mixture of the absurd and beautiful. He resolves to check her lineage to see if there are any surprises. 

They leave Victoria and return to the Tardis, Molly hums a tuneless hum as she wanders around the console with no particular destination in mind. Everything is right in the universe, Molly Hooper and the Doctor in the Tardis. Just like it should be. 

He knows she won’t stay, at least not all the time. Her life in London calls to her, she’s holding both lives seamlessly, but he can tell that her little hospital and her routine and flat are as much a part of her as the Tardis is and crashing around the universe with him. But her soul is an adventurer, she can’t resist the wonder of the unknown. 

And then of course there’s the detective. The brilliant, blind man that Molly is careful not to talk much about but who has the other part of her heart. 

He watches him, sees him dismiss Molly, overlook her until she’s needed and feels both relieved and angered. He’s relieved because as long as Sherlock doesn’t look at Molly then Molly will look only look at him.

Except of course, Sherlock starts to notice Molly. He’s good at hiding it, that detective. So much so that even brilliant, marvellous Molly doesn’t notice any change, thinks she’s simply gained the detective’s elusive friendship.

But the detective won’t keep silent for long, the Doctor has watched humans for a long time, even men like Sherlock have a breaking point. 

He knows something has changed when Molly comes to him in tears. Her friend Mary is dead and she tearfully informs him that she can’t leave with him anymore, that other people need her. 

It’s a bitter pill to swallow but he can do nothing but hug Molly tightly to him, trying to convey everything he feels in one gesture. Molly is so strong she doesn’t ask for comfort. 

It’s a long time before Molly calls him, he leaps to the phone indecently fast, hearts pumping at her familiar voice. She sounds happy. 

He appears just outside a cake shop, a few moments that seem like centuries pass before he sees her, cake in hand. 

She tells him over a Victoria sponge about the collapse of her world; her friends falling to pieces one by one. She keeps her own suffering quiet though he knows she’s been hurting. She’s so brave, his Molly Hooper.

“But John and Sherlock are back together. It might take a while but I think the’re on the mend.” 

She toys with her fork, “I know I had a wobble but I was thinking of travelling again”

She positively beams and the Doctor is helpless but to do anything but smile back at her.

She’s still his

At least for a while. And in a time machine that could mean a lifetime.


	2. Sherlock

Molly keeps disappearing. 

Oh she’s at a Barts for every shift, always a phone call away for John and Rosie and yet...

Every instinct he’s painstakingly honed for thirty years tells him that there is something he can’t grasp; a thread unpulled. 

Since Mary he hasn’t thought of Molly much, not further than the role he’s assigned to her. It’s purposeful this neglect. The drugs strip him of his defenses, sharpen his tongue and loosen it at the same time. He doesn’t trust himself when he’s high around Molly, who knows what might come out.

So he banishes her from his mind, focuses on the mission Mary has set him. It’s not as difficult as he wishes it were. People like to hold him to a high standard; but he knows the truth. A junkie in a nice suit is still a junkie. 

It’s when he’s recovering, sitting next to John, tentatively hopeful that he has John back, that he gets his first real proof.

John and Molly are doing most of the talking, he’s coming down and liable to snap and the truce between him and John is too new to test and the image of Molly beside the ambulance, devastated and angry has left a a bitte taste in his mouth.

He tunes back into the conversation when Molly turns to two young women ordering at the till.

“Did you say a blue box?” Molly asks urgently. The two women exchange a look and then nod.

“Yeah, it’s like one of those weird old fashioned police boxes my Nan described when I was little, just sitting in the middle of the road; weird”

Molly stands up, it’s as if she were filled with an energy and excitement he’s never seen. Her hands shake a little as she gives John a fiver for her share of cake.

“I have to go,” Molly says shrugging on her coat, “I’ll see you later”

“I thought you were supposed to be babysitting me,” Sherlock says. Hes spoiling for a fight but he doesn’t know why.

Regret flashes over Molly’s face and he watches several excuses pass over her face.

“I’ll be right back,” she lies. He doesn’t know how he knows but he’s sure of it. She holds her mobile up. “Just ring me when you guys are finished,” 

John looks between Molly and a suddenly sullen Sherlock and shrugs.

“See you in a bit,” 

Molly smiles, kisses John’s cheek and gives Sherlock an unreadable look. Sherlock waits until the door shuts behind her before he slides out of the booth and follows her. He hears John heave a sigh but his friend makes no move to stop him.

Outside as promised is a blue box and beside that a tall, gangly man. Molly approaches cautiously; the man copies her. 

And then with a laugh the man rushes to Molly and picks her up, spinning her about. Molly let’s out a laugh holding tight as her feet leave the floor. 

There is a warmth between them, an intimacy. John may believe that love was a foreign concept for him but he knew the signs, whatever was between Molly and this man it was deep and abiding.

Not meat dagger material, Molly wouldn’t shed this one when she realised her mistake. 

Something coils in Sherlock’s gut. He’s gotten accustomed to a certain look from Molly, an adoration that although tempered by exasperation was still there. Molly’s crush had survived meat dagger and his various relapses, a fake engagement and every cruel remark. It was a certainty.

Sherlock wasn’t so sure now.

It didn’t matter anyway, Sherlock reasoned. Molly’s crush was useful and now that he could properly call her a friend she’d been indispensable. But that was it. He didn’t want anything more from Molly Hooper.

The man puts Molly down but drapes an arm casually over her shoulders, holding her close. Molly nestles happily against him. They are lost in their own little world.

Something bitter rises in sherlock’s throat. He takes his mobile from his pocket, texts a number he told John he tried not to. The feeling makes him write the text, flirt when he has resolved not to be lead into temptation.

He pushes the cake shop door open with the flat of his hand; angry at everything and nothing. 

There is something like grim triumph when he hears the text alert muffled in his thick Belstaff pocket. 

John looks up curiously when he reappears, a line appearing in his forehead when Sherlock announces that he has other plans for the night. It only lessens a smidgen when Sherlock eludes to high wicomb. It’s an empty triumph but scraping the bottom as he is it’s tbe best he can do.


End file.
